How the Imp Stole Christmas
by minorshan
Summary: Just a silly little retelling of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas". Takes place in Storybrooke soon after Emma and Snow get home. Minor spoilers for season 2, but nothing that hasn't aired since "Queen of Hearts". Rumbelle. One-shot.


**I'm no Dr. Seuss, but then, who is? Just a silly little retelling of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Pure kinda crackish, kinda sappy, holiday fic. Hope you enjoy it! :)**

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The Dearies in Storybrooke liked Christmas a lot...

But the pawnbroker Imp simply did **not**!

The Imp hated Christmas! The whole holiday season! Now please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason. It could be the Dark One had poisoned his soul. It could be, perhaps, that his shoes'd worn through the sole. But I think the most likely reason of all, may have been losing his family made his heart two sizes too small.

But, whatever the reason, his sole or his heart, he stood hating that Storybrooke he couldn't depart. Staring out from his shop with a dour, Impish frown, at the warm strings of lights over tacky lawn gnomes. For he knew all the Dearies in this cursed town, were now hanging wreaths more gaudy than the gaudiest ball gown.

"**They've** got **their** family back!" he snarled with a sneer, "Tomorrow is Christmas! It's practically here!" Then he growled, with his Imp fingers nervously drumming, "I MUST find some way to stop Christmas from coming!"

For tomorrow he knew, fairytale girls and boys, would wake bright and early. They'd rush for their toys! And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise! Noise! Noise! The sound of their joy the one thing he hated! Reminding him of the one need magic hadn't sated. The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! Then the Dearies, young and old, would sit down to a feast. And they'd feast! And they'd feast! And they'd FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!

They would feast on his inner well-being, so warm and happy whilst he was just spinning. They'd eat some kind of roasted beast, which was something the Imp couldn't stand in the least!

And **then **they'd do something he liked least of all! All those uncursed fools, the tall and the small, would stand close together, with Christmas bells ringing. They'd stand with candles in hand, and the fools would start singing!

They'd sing! And they'd laugh! And they'd SING! LAUGH! HUG! KISS! And the more the Imp thought of the Storybrooke Fest, the more the Imp thought, "I must put this to rest! Why, for twenty-eight years I've put up with it now! I MUST stop this Christmas from coming... But HOW?"

Then he got an idea! An awful idea! THE IMP GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

"I know just what to do!" his cackled, afloat. So he conjured a Santy Claus hat and a coat. And he giggled, and clucked, "A simple dark magic trick!" "With this coat and this hat, I look just like Saint Nick!"

"All I need is a reindeer..." The Imp looked around. But reindeer, like wolves, are not easily found. Did that stop the old Imp? No! The Imp simply said, "If I can't find a reindeer, I'll take Red instead!" To his shop he did poof the werewolf girl Red, and forced her from human to canine instead. Then he took her free will, and tied some fake horns on the top of her head.

Then he loaded some bags, and some old empty sacks, on his new conjured sleigh. Then he hitched up the mortified Red. Then the Imp said, "On Clifford, my huge red wolf steed!" And she let loose growl, which he did in fact heed. With a roll of his eyes he snapped up her reins. "Fine then my Dearie, but Red is not a fit reindeer name!" And the sleigh started down, toward the homes where the fools lay a-snooze in their town.

All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air. The Dearies were all dreaming sweet dreams without care, when he came to the first little house on the square. "This is stop number one," the old Rumpy Claus hissed, and he poofed to the roof, empty bags in his fist.

Then he slid down the chimney, his slight frame made his entrance a cinch. Since he was to play Santa for his clever ruse, his entrance was the clinch. His scrawny frame useful for once, down he flew. Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue, where the kiddy's stockings all hung in a row. "These stockings," he grinned, "are the first things to go!"

Then he slithered and slunk, his reptile smile unpleasant, around the whole room, and he took every present! Ray guns! And bicycles! Nintendos! Flutes! Wooden swords! Rocking horses! and Apollo bars! And he stuffed them in bags. Then the Imp, very nimbly, floated his bags up the chimbly!

Then off he slunk to the family's fridge and took a Fest platter, their** whole** potluck dish! Why, that Imp even took next month's rent from their safe. "When they turn out their pockets I shall have to act pissed!" Then he sent the food and the cash up the chimney with glee. "And now!" grinned the Imp, "I will wither the tree!" And the Imp grabbed the tree, prepped to let flow his magic, when he heard a small gasp that was truly tragic.

He turned around fast, and he saw his sweet Belle, and he knew from her face that gasp was because her heart fell. The Imp had been caught by his true love red-handed, using magic, it couldn't be worse if he himself had planned it. She stared at the Imp and said, "Rumple, please say this is not how it looks."

"I could never fool you my dear, you've read too many books." He could not lie to his Beauty, but had other tricks. He thought up an excuse and he thought it up quick! "But I have not touched this tree, it is still magic free! But I could, if you would, wish me to try. Just look at the thing, its needles so dry!"

But Belle knew his game. He'd go pro truth dodging if he could, so she shook her head slowly right where she stood. "My new friends are lucky, it pays to be kind. They opened their doors and they opened their hearts. They let me spend my first Christmas with them. But you've stolen every last piece of Yule magic from their den. You don't need money nor magic, so what are you doing? Tell me right now or I start the shooing!"

The Imp hung his head, heavy with shame. "As I told you before, I cannot change."

Then, to his shock, her hand cradled his chin. And she pushed his head up, was she looking for sin? But no, there was just love in his Beauty's eyes. "I know you Rumple, that's just a disguise. I called you a coward, and so you shall be, until you can trust and share pain with me."

He tried to protest but was stopped by a finger, pressed to his lips and her touch it did linger. "I know the Imp took you over after your one act of courage. What I don't know is how to give you a new spark of spurage. Open your heart and you'll find that you're brave. It's only yourself, not powers, through which you'll be saved."

And Belle left, let him alone, to continue his task. What truly hurt now was about his scheme she hadn't asked. Now left more alone, on this Christmas Eve, now everyone's spirit he was eager to reave. The last thing he took was the log for their fire, he'd end everyone's Christmas in his heartsick ire! On their walls he left nothing but hooks and some wire. The few coins of copper that he left in the house, were not even enough to buy a door mouse.

Then he did the same to the other fool's houses. Leaving handfuls of change, he would soon evict all! Even their spouses! It was quarter past dawn, all Dearies still a-bed, all Dearies still a-snooze, when he packed up his sled. He packed it with presents! The ribbons! The wrappings! The cocoa! The cookies! The trimmings! The trappings! Even poor Grace's favorite tea set!

Back to his shop he did ride! Up to the door, and Red wearily sighed. He unloaded his load with an Impish giggle. "Now this, my wolf friend, will certainly work! No Christmas magic, just mine!" he declared with a smirk. "There shall be no table scraps for you to devour, but worry not, you'll change back in an hour."

"But first they must find out no Christmas is coming! They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do! They'll blame the Queen in a minute or two. But you won't remember a thing that I've done, so your Christmas also will have no more fun! Storybrooke may not be under the curse, but so long I can't leave, I'll make your lives worse! No families singing, but sobbing," the Imp declared. "**That** I simply **must **hear!"

So, then he paused.

And the Imp put a hand to his ear. And he did hear a sound rising over the snow. It started in low, then it started to grow...

But the sound wasn't sad! It didn't sound angry! Why, this sound sounded merry! It couldn't be so! But it **was** merry! **Very!**

He looked down the street to the square's bare Christmas tree, and his eyes how they popped at what he could see. Angry, he shook, and bashed the ground with his cane. What he saw were families, all kinds, joyful all the same!

Every Storybrooke family, and even the singles, those desperate, the tall and the small, they were singing! Without any presents at all! Even Regina was having a ball! He hadn't stopped Christmas magic from coming. It **came**! Somehow or other, it came just the same!

And the Imp, with his imp-feet ice-cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could this be possibly so? It came without ribbons! It came without candy! It came without packages, boxes or bags! It came without cider and the evergreen sagged!" And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore. He puzzled til Red was a woman once more. Then the Imp thought of something he hadn't before! "Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas... perhaps... means a little bit more!"

He looked at the square a bit more squarely, and there was his Belle, but with Red, not her family - or was she now, truly? And she wasn't the only one who should be alone, but was not, in the cold. Regina held Henry as Emma smiled back. The Lost Boys sang with Peter, Wendy on his arm. The Hatter was chatting with the infamous Whale, while Grace beamed lovingly up at him without fail.

Christmas was not toys, not feasts, not candy. Christmas was love for those that make you feel dandy. Perfect was not something that it had to be, it was gathering with family, perhaps by a tree. Cursed though they'd been for twenty-eight years, they'd always found someone with whom to adhere. Someone with whom to share laughter and tears.

Family, like Christmas, was made of the most powerful magic. By birth or by choice, friends could be family, and the Imp had not seen it. He'd been blind, he'd been deaf, he'd been all alone. For twenty-eight Christmases he'd kept a cold hearth but to what end? When all of this time he might've made family of friends. And though he still wished for his son by his side, Belle had shown the Imp his heart hadn't died.

And what happened then?

Well... in Storybrooke, they say, that the Imp's fearful heart grew three sizes that day!

And the minute his heart didn't feel quite so tight, a purple poof cloud shimmered in the bright morning light. All he had stolen was now under the tree! And he brought back the toys! And the food for the feast! And held his Belle close as he...

...HE HIMSELF! The Imp carved the roast beast!


End file.
